Reflections on life: the funny, poignant, serious and quirky

This was a writing exercise for my writers’ group, which has been in existence for over fourteen years. Our name is: the writer’s group, or more often we refer to it as “our writers’ group”. We could decide on no name any more creative than this, because really, doesn’t the name writers’ group state the obvious, without being too cute?

Cavernous horizontal lines were etched in her forehead. Deep vertical lines delved between her eyebrows. She smoothed them with her hands, but even flattened, they did not disappear. She liked to think that they made her look intelligent, like some deep thinker. That is what she liked to think.

Her favourite quote of all time came from Gene Fowler, whom, she supposed was trying to knock down that fortress called writers’ block when he came up with this gem:

“Writing is easy: All you do is sit staring at a blank sheet of paper until drops of blood form on your forehead.”

She had friends who botoxed their forehead lines; others who wore bangs. She did neither, defiantly baring her forehead for all to see. If truth be told, she did not really mind the lines—they were well-earned from years of reading, writing, and studying, sometimes in poor lighting, sometimes not. She liked to think they made her look serious.

Anything examined by itself becomes an oddity. That space between the eyebrows and hairline is generally not given a lot of attention, unless the hairline is receding. She had read that a wide and deep forehead meant that the person’s brain was big. Her forehead was neither wide nor deep, so she decided to put little store into that piece of wisdom. Her forehead was narrow, which was one of the reasons she did not wear bangs—there was not much room there for more than a bit of fringe.

She was not the type of person to bang her head against the wall literally, but figuratively was a different thing. People told her she thought about things too much– quantifying them, then qualifying them.

She decided to think of her lined forehead as merely the exterior of a labyrinth of unknown potential. That, or she was stupid.

~ AWARDS ~

I will no longer be accepting Awards.
I am honoured to be remembered, nominated and given awards but I will not partake in the Award "ceremonies".
Thank you to all who have given me awards in the past: you make my soul sing.